With Unique asleep in their bedroom, Kennard sat at the desk in the adjoining study, halfheartedly going over a few important papers that he’d been neglecting. He hadn’t set foot in his office since last Thursday. His conspicuous absence led to a buildup of things that needed his attention, some immediately, some not so much. At this point the particulars didn’t really matter one way or another because his mind wasn’t in it. Since the second Unique came clean about everything—old boyfriends and associates, the stint in prison, the cons, being forced to sell her body in Mexico—it was strange that he wasn’t really angry with Unique. In fact, the only thing Kennard had on his mind was the sucker called Fat Tee. This fool had the nerve to break into his house and rape his woman, on his kitchen floor. Who in their right mind would think that would even fly? The lyrics from Jay-Z’s “Niggas in Paris” broke his train of thought. His eyes jerked to the iPhone laying dormant on the desk to his right before remembering that he’d powered off the thing.
